Skulduggery sighed, walked over to the remains of the sofa and sat on the arm. "I abandoned my family crest because I hadn't lived up to the high standards as set by my parents and my brothers and sisters."

"You had brothers and sisters?"

"Of course."

"What were their names?"

"What does it matter? They're all dead now. I'm the only one left, the only one to carry that crest down through the years. They were good, honourable, decent people. When they were alive, the crest meant something."

"But you're good and honourable and decent too."

He took off his hat, brushed imaginary lint from the brim. "Unfortunately, in war, you let some of those qualities slip. When I feel I have regained the right to reclaim that crest, I'll reclaim it."

"I don't know, I think you overreact."

"Do you, now?"

"I know people do terrible things in war, but I can't imagine you doing something so bad that it changes your opinion on who you are. You're being too hard on yourself."

"That's always been a flaw of mine."

"Were you the oldest?"

"Second oldest. I had an older brother."

"Wow... the great Skulduggery Pleasant had a big brother. What was he like?"

Skulduggery's chin tilted to the right. "He was bigger than me, stronger than me, he liked to think he was smarter than me. He protected us, looked out for us. He was everything an older sibling should be. He was everything that you're going to be to your sister."

"I hope so. It's weird, isn't it? You meet someone and you become friends and you grow to love them, and that's the way it works. That's how things go. But then a baby is born, and you don't have that long period of getting to know them, of figuring out if you like them as a person... you just love them. Like, it's instant. You hold the baby in your arms and you feel so much real, overwhelming love, like you would do anything to protect it. Bam, just like that, your whole life is different. This baby, this little person that you don't even know, is now more important to you than anything else."

"It does come as quite a surprise," Skulduggery murmured, and stood up.

"Oh," she said. "Sorry. I was talking about a little sister, not... not a child of your own... I don't know what I'm talking about."

Skulduggery shook his head. "Nonsense. You described it perfectly. Pure, unconditional love. It's a wonderful thing. You'll experience it again when you have a child of your own."

"Whoa!" said Valkyrie, jumping to her feet, the blanket falling around her. "Whoa! Stop right there! We're not even going to talk about that! We're not even going to mention the possibility!"

"It unnerves you, then?"

"It freaks me out is what it does! I think I still have a few years left of, you know, playing the field before I find someone I want to settle down with. We're talking a few centuries, you know?"

"So you're not planning on rushing into anything?"

"Not if I can help it."

"Does Fletcher know this?"

She laughed. "He'd better."

"And Caelan?"

"I make sure to tell him every time I see him."

Skulduggery put his hat on. "That's my girl."

Chapter 17.

The Zombie King and Co.

aurien Scapegrace, the Killer Supreme, the Zombie King, lay in a freezer, his legs curled up to his chest. He felt the freezer move slightly and he muttered dark things under his breath. The refrigerated truck he'd been using as a mobile base had broken down, so he'd sent that idiot Thrasher to get another one. But Thrasher couldn't find a refrigerated truck. The only thing he could find that even remotely met Scapegrace's requirements was a Percy Penguin Ice-cream Van.

Thrasher had tried to convince Scapegrace, when faced with his wrath, that an ice-cream van was ideal a it was innocent, it was unexpected, no one would ever imagine it housed a terrifying zombie. Scapegrace fumed. Innocent was not the same as discreet. His mobile base had a smiling plastic penguin on its roof, and it couldn't go faster than forty kilometres an hour. They couldn't even find a way to switch off that d.a.m.n Popeye music that jingled and jangled on a constant loop. It was driving Scapegrace mad. What was worse, every time they stopped in traffic, he could hear people run up and tap on the window.

They were moving through yet another small town. Scapegrace hated small towns. He felt the van slow, and heard the kids immediately swarm out on to the road, waving money and shouting their orders. Scapegrace stayed where he was, safe in the frosty confines of the freezer, trying to think of things that would soothe his impatience. He thought of tranquil lakes, of birds singing, of plucking out Thrasher's eyes, and eventually, he reached a place within himself that had some degree of balance.

He heard Thrasher's voice, the one thing guaranteed to ruin the Zen of even the most placid monk, and opened the freezer lid. He could hear people battering on the window above him.

"What did you say?" he called out.

"I'm just wondering," Thrasher answered from the driver's seat, "if maybe we should serve some ice cream."

"Why on earth would we want to do that?"

"To be inconspicuous. They're all around us. If we give them ice cream, they'll go away, and we won't arouse suspicion."

Scapegrace struggled to control his temper. Tranquil lakes. Birds singing. Eye-plucking. Calm.

"Thrasher," he called out, "we have no ice cream. I'm in the freezer, Thrasher. Did you forget that?"

"Well, what about the machine?"

"The ice-cream-making machine?"

"Yes."

"Do you know how to work it?"

"You just, you just put the cone under the nozzle and you pull the thing and the ice cream swirls out and you stick a chocolate flake in it."

"It's that easy?"

"Yes."

"Should I get out of the freezer and do it?"

"If you want."

"You're an idiot, Thrasher. I have bits falling off me and I have a burnt head. I'd say that would arouse a little suspicion, wouldn't you?"

"Oh... yes. Well, I could do it, if you want to drive. I always wanted to work in an ice-cream van, ever since I was a little boy."

"Is that right?"

"Oh, yes. My mother would take me to the beach and I loved hearing the tinkle tinkle of the ice-cream van as it made its way across the-"

"Shut up!"

Thrasher shut up. "We're not serving ice cream, do you hear me?

We're not! Tell these people to go away! We're closed!"

"I tried that, sir. They don't really listen."

Scapegrace glowered. "Are there children out there?"

"Um, yes sir, they're all children."

"Run a few down."

"Sir?"

"Drive over a few of the little brats. That'll scare 'em off."

"I... I don't think I can do that, sir."

"You're not developing a conscience on me now, are you, Thrasher?"

"No sir!"

"You're still an evil zombie, aren't you?"

"Oh yes sir, evil to the core!"

"Then why can't you drive over a few children?"

"I just don't think we're capable of going that fast, sir. With this traffic, plus the fact that they do seem to be an unusually spry bunch..."

"Fine," Scapegrace said angrily. "I'll take care of it."

He pushed the lid all the way open and repositioned himself, then reached up and opened the window. Voices flooded the van, and hands poked through, waving money. Scapegrace pulled a face before plunging his head out of the window, and all the little kids screamed in terror and ran off, hands waving in the air. Scapegrace broke down, laughing hysterically, and fell back into the freezer, clutching his sides.

Thrasher glanced back, and Scapegrace heard him force a laugh. "That's very good, sir, very funny."

An hour later, Scapegrace felt the van slow again, and eventually stop. A few moments pa.s.sed, then Thrasher appeared over the freezer.

"We're here," he said, sliding open the lid. "At least I think we're here. We're definitely somewhere."

Scapegrace clambered out, slapping Thrasher's hands away when he went to help him. Once out, he went to the front of the van.

They were in Dublin's docklands, outside an old warehouse. There was a girl out there with blue hair. She was looking at the warehouse door, same as Scapegrace, but hadn't once turned round to look at the van with the giant penguin on top. Thrasher joined him.

"Who is she?" Thrasher asked.

"How am I supposed to know?" Scapegrace scowled. "All I can see is the back of her blue head."

"Do you think she's crazy?"

"Why would she be crazy?"

Thrasher shrugged.

Scapegrace got out of the van, Thrasher close behind him. They approached the crazy girl with the blue hair.

"The doctor isn't here," she said without looking at them. "The whole place is empty. It smells of disinfectant and oranges."

"Nye? Is that who you're talking about? Doctor Nye?"

The crazy girl nodded, and looked at him. His face had been burnt off by Valkyrie Cain, and being a zombie meant that it had never even tried to heal itself. The crazy girl didn't even bat an eyelid. "My name's Clarabelle," she said. "What's yours?"

"You don't need to know his name," Thrasher snarled. "You don't need to know anything!"

"Cool." The crazy girl didn't appear too bothered.

"Where has he gone?" Scapegrace asked.

"Where has who gone?"

"Doctor Nye."

"Doctor Nye isn't a he. Doctor Nye is an it. I found a note that said it's got a job in the Sanctuary. Can you imagine that? Doctor Nye, working in the Sanctuary. Weirder things have happened, I suppose. Like Belgium."

Scapegrace frowned. "What about Belgium?"

"That's pretty weird, isn't it? If Belgium happened, why should I be surprised that Doctor Nye is working for the Sanctuary? It's all relative, isn't it? It all depends on where you're standing. And where you've stood."

Wherever Scapegrace was standing in relation to the crazy girl, he was pretty sure he was lost.

"I came here looking for a job," she answered, even though no one had asked. "I had to leave my old job. I killed my boss. I didn't mean to do it, and it wasn't actually me who did it, but I still killed him. So now I need a new job. I dyed my hair. Do you like it?"